Over dinner that night, Bel realised that little had changed here since she’d been away. Luiza was still cold and patronising, hardly offering a word of sympathy for her loss. Maurício was a little more forthcoming, but spent most of the evening discussing the financial intricacies of Wall Street and something called the Dow Jones Index with Gustavo, which had apparently seen a mass selling of stocks last Thursday.

‘I thank God I decided to sell the stocks I held last month. I hope your father did the same,’ said Maurício. ‘Luckily, I didn’t have many to begin with. Never did trust those Yankees. They’re trying to shore up the market at the moment, hoping it will have settled over the weekend, but I doubt we’ve seen the worst yet. Long term, however, if the market does crash, it will have a devastating effect on our coffee industry. The demand from America, which accounts for most of our produce, is sure to fall like a stone. Especially with the mass overproduction Brazil has seen in the past few years,’ he added gloomily.

‘It seems a blessing that our family got out of the American markets when we did,’ said Luiza pointedly, shooting a glance at Bel. ‘I’ve always believed the avaricious get their just deserts sooner or later.’

Bel chanced a glance at her husband, who returned an unusually sympathetic smile at his mother’s inference.

‘We may no longer be rich, my dear, but at least we are stable,’ said her father-in-law neutrally in response.

On the way up to bed that evening, Bel turned to Gustavo.

‘How bad is this situation in America? Do you know? I’m obviously concerned for my father. What with him being out of Rio for the past week, he may not know much of any of this.’

‘As I’m sure you realise, I didn’t follow the markets previously,’ Gustavo admitted as he opened the door to their bedroom. ‘But from what my father says, and based on the facts that I’m only just beginning to understand, it’s very serious indeed.’

Bel went into the bathroom, her mind whirling with the events of the past few hours. She undressed and once again could not help but stare at the small but visible bump, still hoping she’d somehow been mistaken earlier. As she donned her nightgown, she simply had no idea what she should do. But the one thing she did know was that she couldn’t bear her husband to touch her tonight. Taking as long as she could with her ablutions, she left the bathroom, hoping and praying Gustavo would have fallen asleep. But he was lying in bed wide awake, watching her.

‘I’ve missed you, Izabela. Come to your husband.’

Climbing tentatively into bed beside him, a million excuses went through her mind. But not one of them was sufficient to give to a husband who’d been without his wife for the past two months.